Triwing
by voxinatwitch
Summary: I'm Solairis, a girl with wings and a you-look-at-me-wrong-and-I'll-strike attitude. With reason... Anyway, this is how I came to live in the real world, thanks to a group of other recombinants who had the generosity to rescue me and my own sort of Flock. So thanks again, Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel. Iglesia also says we miss you, Total.
1. Chapter 1

I'm Solairis, a girl with wings and a you-look-at-me-wrong-and-I'll-strike attitude. With reason...

Anyway, this is how I came to live in the real world, thanks to a group of other recombinants who had the generosity to rescue me and my own sort of Flock. So thanks again, Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel. Iglesia also says we miss you, Total.

...

I was in my cage, lying still, hoping they wouldn't come again for us. My head hurt from lying on the hard floor, my stomach always next to empty, I was accustomed to a of routine misery and torture. And have I mentioned medical experiments? I lived the life of the most abused lab-rat. Yes, I am human-with a point zero, zero five percent's difference, which is avian. Okay, I've got wings-which are indeed quite functional.

Right now was what I called the wanting time, the early morning hours just after we woke up, which seemed to stretch endlessly, to the time before our meal was delivered and we had access to, uh, plumbing. We did try to avoid going in our cages-number two made the White Coats especially mad. But sometimes we couldn't help it. This was one of those times when I thought my insides would explode. I anticipated the angry look on the ugly man's face when the shorter-coated doctors came to clean out our cages and give us food. I didn't want another swollen blue mark to add to the welts on my back and limbs. Might I mention that all six of them were perpetually stiff from the lack of space to stretch out? I heard something outside in the computer room where the machines whirred endlessly. Then blinding light seared my retinas. Ouch. They were here. But what was that sound? These people's voices weren't like the White Coats', cruel and cold, or deep and malicious, like the Erasers'. High-pitched shrieks pierced my ears. A person, or more likely, a recombinant around my age. But why were they doing it so early?

As my eyes adjusted to the glare, I saw a group of kids, just as I'd anticipated. Yet with one exception: they weren't in cages or tied down to wheel chairs or gurneys. They were walking around, freely, their wings partly unfolded. What was going on? Were they some evil type of bird-people who were going to help the newly winged Erasers? This could be even worse than I had feared. Across the row, I spotted Gemini with his eyes glued on the strange, free-walking bird-kids. His look of wide-eyed terror expressed what words couldn't: what is going on, will we live?

"I don't want to hurt you," one of them said. She had curly, frizzy hair the color of the overcooked meat they sometimes served us. Another one of them walked around, seeming to reach out in front of him, groping for whatever was next. What was wrong with him, I wondered. His eyes seemed to stay still, completely dilated despite the glaring lights. A tall, dark older-looking boy walked in, and I stared at him, even more afraid now. He had a menacing presence. Then a girl with golden hair came through. She looked almost ready to cry, I could tell. But she didn't, almost like she couldn't. I jerked back as the strange older girl approached my cage. Through tangled knots of hair, I saw her look at me, studying my face.

"Fang," she murmured.

The dark guy looked at my cage and nodded slowly. His stare made me shiver, like the breath of an Eraser that tingles on your neck when they're ready to bite you. What did they want from us? Were they going to do some horrible test that involved eating radioactive dye? I hoped they didn't have any needles on them-or tazers. I'd been zapped several times, and did not look forward to another incident that involved such a stun gun.

What happened next made me go in my pants: they opened one of our cages. Nobody ever opened cages unless they had a tranquilizer gun in hand. Never. Or unless they had a gurney. You could forget being led by the hand. Too many recombinants had wreaked havoc on precious test-tubes and computer monitors when they jerked away. I scarcely dared to believe what was ...were...letting...us...go...IMPOSSIBLE...

I knew the latter as soon as my cage door clicked open, a pale-haired girl with a teddy bear maneuvering the latches. In my mind, I felt a calm presence, almost as if she were singing a lullaby-but mentally. I am not going to hurt you.

She hadn't opened her mouth to speak. That scared me even more. Don't be afraid.

She was...talking-with her mind! She urged me to get up, to run away. Go away,...run...

The impulse was too strong. Without looking back, I unfolded my aching body, stretching my legs into a wide-open sprint. I was free.

In a euphoria, I skittered through the door, into the computer room, spitefully grinning as I pushed a bank of computers to the floor. Then there was a stampede of footsteps: other recombinants. Someone-the older boy with dark hair-grabbed me by he shoulder, heaving me onto his back. I would have screamed and fought, had I not known what he was doing. He was taking me away. I had the feeling my destination would be a much better place than the Institute.

We went through a door, and I got the shock of my life: it led to what I thought to be a giant Eraser's mouth-it smelled, was wet, and even had what looked like teeth. Or were those metal spikes?

I didn't know, having rarely been outside of the Institute. When I had gone outside, it had been a lot brighter...a whole lot brighter...was it the..sewer? Another thought touched my mind, and I realized it was the pale girl with the teddy bear. Yes. We're in the sewer, going outside. Max will take care of us. She always does.

Who are you? I wanted to scream through the pandemonium. But I didn't, unable to tell where the pale bird-girl was. As we neared the exit, I saw an angry-looking Eraser attack the older girl, tearing at her with his claws. I didn't think she'd be able to survive, seeing the blood drip from her head and arms. Still, they fought, and the dark boy-Fang-dropped me, telling me to run on my own. Was the girl fighting the Eraser Max, I wondered. Somehow, I knew it was she. Max. Then, there was a loud, earsplitting CRACK! The Eraser fell back, blood dripping from his claws, his skin paling rapidly. Dead.

Max stood, her chest falling and rising in what looked like sobs as she stared at the Eraser. It was so strange to see a person, so strong, so much older than I, stand, sobbing, so sad. Then the pale bird-girl swooped past me, her wings flashing-she was...flying.

I had wings...that meant...wait-I could fly. I sprinted down the tunnel, hearing the words of one of our White Coats echo: "He was my son! You killed your own brother!"

Footsteps echoed behind me as the tallest girl sprinted to catch up with us. She pushed me ahead of her, and we ran in tandem as I wondered what, exactly, was going on.

But did it matter? I was free-and so was Gemini. He was-well, at least I thought-my twin brother.

Free. As the shafts of sunlight became brighter, I saw we were leaving the sewer. The air above was fresh, sweet, like nothing I'd ever tasted: tinged with freedom. I called the other recombinants and Gemini, hoping they'd be there. I found Iglesia, a younger, dark-haired girl, whom had strange, featherless wings of leathery, gray skin. She beamed, revealing a set of wicked white teeth, similar to the Erasers'. (being part fruit-bat, hers were used to slice through whole carrots and shelled nuts, not ultra-rare steaks of who-knows-what.) Gemini waved to me, and I waved back, flapping my wings to see what I could do. Leaping as high as I could, I took a deep breath as I rose. It was a strange thing, staying aloft without falling as I always had when I jumped. Gemini and Iglesia looked at each other, saying something I couldn't hear until they both took off, soaring into the wind with me.


	2. Chapter 2

:Several Months Later:  
>Iglesia smiled, and the kid at the fast food table across from ours let go a mighty screech: "MOOOmmmy! That girl's a VAMPIRE!"<br>I rolled my eyes as Gemini stalked off to the condiment bar: his take on conflict was avoid, avoid, avoid.  
>Mine was more like avoid if possible, then resolve, ASAP.<br>I replied to the terrified boy with a quick comeback that I'd rehearsed for this kind of episode, which happened frequently...  
>"She's not a vampire-she's just obsessed with that series of vampire books-Nighthunt-so she wears fake fangs all the time."<br>The kid wasn't all that satisfied, I saw, as he peered at us over his shoulder, a secretive expression twisting his face.  
>I felt an elbow slam my side, genetically enhanced bones contacting another mutant's flesh. Iglesia was never thrilled when I did my little speech. Her elbow never got any softer, either...<br>She hated the Nighthunt series, abhorring the stereotypes it flung upon the world's only winged mammals. On top of that, she was strictly vegan-save for the occasional tasty gnat or other insect/arachnid-a habit owed to her .0052 percent Andean Fruit Bat genetics.  
>What else am I supposed to tell people, I wondered, giving Iglesia a pleading look. From over the ketchup dispenser, Gemini grinned ear to ear, his midnight blue eyes twinkling naughtily. He was a lackadaisical bird, truth be told. Except when Erasers and Flyboys were concerned. Then it was another story... Iglesia muttered something to him which I suspected wasn't quite g-rated. Tough Tomatoes, bat girl, I wanted to yell. But I didn't, due to the crowd of restaurant goers whom would question my actions, leading to yet more conflict-something I could well enough live without.<br>The memories of the Wanting Time were still fresh, what with our jaunt with the flock at Itex HQ in Germany...my face still bore the scars of a Max clone's fists...But we had lived, and escaped back to the states, many thanks to the Flock. I read Fang's blog whenever possible, attempting to catch up with them. Still, whenever I managed to do so, the Flock had always flown the coop before we arrived.  
>Such is the life of a wandering teenage mutant. We aren't as swift as the Flock. Reason: Iglesia is bat, Gemini and me raptor. She's a creature of the night, whereas we birdies have an easier time in the daylight. Also, she gets this batty kind of satisfaction from sleeping off the day in guano filled barns. Gemini and me aren't so keen on that kind of thing, if you get my drift...<p>

I had to go to the bathroom-really badly. Thus I gave Iglesia my customary warning glance and hand motion that was Triwing for 'your mouth had better stay closed while I'm gone; don't need any more meddling inquiries about long, pointy canines or the tendency to suck down ketchup instead of soda.'  
>Normally, she adhered to my policy, which made life easier. If we ever could dredge up the money, we'd make her a t-shirt that said 'Nighthunt Rocks! Wear Fangs!" That would save us a lot of breath...<br>I entered the single-stall restroom, doing a quick look-see for any security-or stupidity-cameras. With none to be found, I shucked off two layers of long-sleeved t-shirts, stretching out my wings. Oh, the joy... Today we'd been hitch-hiking: Iglesia's sleep patterns as of late had left her too drowsy for daytime flying, which meant the wings were retracted as tightly as possible. This, for us, is the same thing as wearing handcuffs for several hours at a time: uncomfortable, to say the least.  
>I shook out the tired joints, and sighing, slowly pulled them back in, savoring the cool air against my feathers. I paused for a moment, picturing what a land-bound nonmutant would think of seeing me now: an angel with raggedly cut auburn waves that skimmed the shoulders; dappled bay wings a good thirteen feet wide. I wasn't as lean as the Flock members; more compact, closer to five foot two than Max's five eight. But I packed a punch-quite literally, as several unlucky Erasers had learned over the last months. My raptor eyes found every blemish on the mirror's glass: a spotting exercise I enjoyed, along with the philosophy of the quicker you see it, the sooner you get away. My eyes were less hazel and more flecked olive drab, like a camo army blanket. A beaked nose completed my face of average humaness, masking the feral mutant that dwelled within.<br>I utilized the presence of the toilet, and then opened the door, ready to face whatever fate threw at me next.  
>Havoc met my eyes.<p> 


End file.
